MAIN HOMILETICS OF THE PARAGRAPH.— Matthew 8:23-27
Dormant power.—In the first verses of this passage the resolution of Matthew 8:18 is executed in part. The disciples—apparently with some reluctance—enter a ship. They “follow” Jesus into the “boat” (R. V.). The “boat” which He had possibly spoken of previously (Matthew 8:18). The “boat” which probably to their nautical eyes seemed too small for its work. (Note the words “gave commandment” in Matthew 8:18.) The voyage which followed was characterised by two principal features. On the part of the disciples there was an agitated appeal. On the part of the Saviour a gracious response.
I. An agitated appeal.—The occasion of this was a “great tempest”—a sort of convulsion (a σεισμὸς) in that sea. The author of “The Land and the Book” tells us that such tempests are common still in those parts, and that they are caused principally by the sudden rush of the wind down some of the deep gullies on the eastern side of the lake. This fact seems to explain much that we read of in this case. A vessel making for the East would be especially exposed to that wind; and the waves raised by it would naturally drive over its prow so as to “cover” the decks of such a “boat” where it had them, and “fill” it where it had none (Matthew 8:24; Mark 4:37). Either way, the peril was great. Could they hope, in such a craft, to survive such a storm? The ground of their appeal lay in the unexpected attitude of their Master and Lord at that time. Somewhere away from those navigating the vessel (note the word “came” in Matthew 8:25)—somewhere, St. Mark says, as would be natural in such a storm (see above), in the “hinder part” of the vessel, with “His head on a pillow”—He was buried in “sleep” To us this is an affecting evidence of the true humanity of the Master, and of the serious effects of His many labours at times upon it. To them it would doubtless have a different look. Was it lack of discernment? Was it want of concern? Should they not, in any case, wake Him out of His sleep? The nature of their appeal, when they came to make it, was in full accord with such feelings. On the one hand, as natural to men who did not know how many moments they had to live, it was exceedingly brief and abrupt. “Help, Lord, we perish” (see R.V.). On the other hand, as men feeling their need of all the sympathy and help that they could possibly obtain in their awful extremity, there was something like a tone of reproach—almost of complaint—not to say of accusation itself—in their words. St. Mark’s language (Mark 4:38) puts this very bluntly indeed. “Carest Thou not that we perish?” Almost “Have you no feeling at all for our need?” Great indeed must have been the tempest within them to give such utterance to such thoughts.
II. A gracious response.—For gracious it was—most gracious—though in the form of rebuke. A rebuke, first, to the disciples themselves. “Why are ye fearful”—timorous—ye “little-faithed” souls? What is there really to fear? What is there lacking except in your faith? In form, of course,—and in effect also—this was to them a rebuke. But what a rebuke! What pity was in it! What assurance as well! How exactly calculated to begin quieting the storm of feeling within them! Could there, indeed, have been greater love consistent with truth? The other rebuke was but the sequel to this; its complement, as it were. Very wise was its direction. “He rebuked the winds and the sea” (Matthew 8:26). He attacked the cause of their danger; the spring of their fears. Let these be hushed, there would be terror no more. Very effectual were its first consequences. Not the winds only but the waves are silent. Not the waves only but the lingering “swell” by which such waves were usually followed. All motion was gone. “There was a great calm” (Matthew 8:26). Very striking were its remoter results. There was now as great a stillness in the hearts of those who looked on as there was in the elements round about them. A stillness more than the stillness of peace, though doubtless, in their circumstances, that would be blessed and deep. It was the stillness of wonder; the hush of bewilderment; the silence of awe. “What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?” (Matthew 8:27). A question that may very well have been accompanied by others. Where was our faith? How came we ever to question His power? How came we ever to question His love? Shall we ever do so again?
This story has long been valued by all true disciples of Christ. It is a beautiful illustration of His ways of dealing with those that are His.
1. Of the way in which sometimes He brings them into trial.—Himself (perhaps) bidding them do that which is contrary to their judgments; Himself allowing their fears and scruples to appear justified for a time; Himself leaving them to do battle with the forces against them, almost in despair. Does He care for us at all? Is it beyond Him to help us? Why are things with us thus? (Judges 6:13). Can we hope ever to get to the other side of this cloud?
2. Of the way in which He may be expected to bring them through their trials at last.—Viz. in such a way as to learn far more both of His mercy and power; in such a way, therefore, as to reach a greater “calm” and deeper “faith” in the end; and to wonder, therefore, now as much at our former fears as we did at His slumber before.
HOMILIES ON THE VERSES
Matthew 8:23-27. Christ stilling the tempest.—
1. Our Lord, of set purpose, will lead His disciples into dangers, for the stirring up and trial of their faith, and for evidencing His own glory.
2. His presence exempteth not His disciples from trouble and danger.
3. Our Lord, as He took on Him our nature, so also He subjected Himself to our natural and sinless infirmities. Being weary, He falls asleep.
4. The church may be like to be drowned, and Christ may seem to neglect the matter.
5. The church must believe Christ to be God and able to deliver them. He can carry Himself as one asleep, to the end He may be awakened by their prayers.
6. As a sense of danger and need is a choice argument when we deal with Christ for help; so is it an ordinary forerunner of deliverance and help.
7. It is a simple misbelief to be too much afraid to perish in Christ’s company and service. “Why are ye fearful?”
8. He can make a difference between small faith and no faith, and as He will reprove unbelief, so will He not despise the smallest measure of belief.
9. Whether He seem to sleep or to be awake, He is Lord of heaven and earth, Ruler and Commander of wind, sea, and land, whom all the creatures must obey.
10. The glory of the deliverance which Christ doth give to His people in their greatest strait is marvellous and far above all that they can apprehend ere it come. “The men marvelled.”
11. The faith which Christ’s disciples had in His Godhead was little in comparison of what they had ground for. “What manner of man is this?” etc.—David Dickson.
The stilling of the tempest.—
I. Christ’s sleep in the storm.—His calm slumber is contrasted with the hurly-burly of the tempest and the fear of the crew. It was the sleep of physical exhaustion after a hard day’s work. It is a sign of His true manhood, of His toil up to the very edge of His strength. It is also a sign of His calm conscience and pure heart. Jonah slept through the storm because his conscience was stupefied; but Christ as a tired child laying its head on its mother’s lap. That sleep may have a symbolical meaning for us. Though Christ is present, the storm comes, and He is sleeping through it. He delays His help that He may try our faith and quicken our prayers. He sleeps, but He never oversleeps, and there are no too-lates with Him.
II. The awaking cry of fear.—The broken abruptness of their appeal reveals the urgency of the case in the experienced eyes of these fishermen. “Save us” is the language of faith; “we perish” is that of fear. That strange blending of opposites is often repeated by us. A faith which does not wholly suppress fear may still be most real; and the highest faith has ever the consciousness that unless Christ help, and that speedily, we perish.
III. The gentle remonstrance.—There is something very majestic in the tranquillity of our Lord’s awakening, and, if we follow Matthew’s order, in His addressing Himself first to the disciples’ weakness, and letting the storm rage on. It can do no harm, and, for the present, may blow as it listeth, while He gives the trembling disciples a lesson. Observe how lovingly our Lord meets an imperfect faith. He has no rebuke for their rude awaking. He does not find fault with them for being “fearful,” but for being “so fearful” as to let their fear cover their faith, just as the waves were doing the boat. He shows them and us the reason for overwhelming fear as being the deficiency in our faith. And He casts all into the form of a question, thus softening rebuke, and calming their terrors by the appeal to their common sense. Fear is irrational if we can exercise faith.
IV. The word that calms the storm.—Christ yields to the cry of an imperfect faith, and so strengthens it. He does not quench the dimly burning wick, but tends it and feeds it with oil—by His inward gifts and by His answers to prayer—till it burns up clear and smokeless, a faith without fear. As He lay asleep He showed the weakness of manhood; but He woke to manifest the power of indwelling Divinity. So it is always in His life, where, side by side with the signs of humiliation and participation in man’s weakness, we ever have tokens of His Divinity breaking through the veil. All this is a symbol of our individual lives, as well as of the history of the church.—A. Maclaren, D.D.